


The Malfunction

by GKingOfFez



Series: GKingOfFez's RvB Angst War Entries [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Robotics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GKingOfFez/pseuds/GKingOfFez
Summary: Simmons never meant for anyone to get hurt. Running away was supposed to avoid that.Written for the June 2017 RvB Angst War on Tumblr.





	The Malfunction

**Author's Note:**

> This was my second and final Angst War entry I was able to put up! Got it in with about 20 minutes to spare. I sort of left it a little while before giving it a final lookover and posting on other sites.
> 
> The prompt was- "A character gains a power/ability that makes them dangerous to be around. They run away to protect everyone else" from GoodLuckDetective.

Of all the ways Simmons would have expected to spend his afternoon, running around in the cave systems beneath _Blood Gulch_ , tired, wet and hopelessly lost would have been very low on the list.

“Where the _fuck_ is the exit to this place?” he moaned to himself in frustration, wiping at the moisture on his forehead, “I swear it’s so much easier getting _in_ to this fucking canyon then it is to get out. It’s a hell-hole in the middle of fucking nowhere, not the _goddamn_ underworld, what the _fuck_!”

He half-glanced at his robotic right arm- he’d managed to lock the mechanics at the elbow and shoulder joints so it stuck out of his body at a rigid, if awkward right angle. It had still been letting off an occasional electronic spark since he’d entered the tunnel, and he was still terrified, even half an hour after ‘ _the_ _incident’_ , to let it touch the rest of his body.

_What happens if it hurts me like it hurt  Gr-_

“ _Fuck_ , fuck _shit_ fuck, don’t _think_ about that, Simmons, don’t think about it. Just need to get out of here, and try to fix this. Why won’t you let me out!?” he yelled to the tunnelway ahead of him, as if it was its fault he’d gotten lost. His own echoing voice was the only answer.

Simmons let out an angry groan, and decided to stop for a break to ease his sore muscles.

He fell back against the rocky surface of the tunnel wall and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm, then abruptly choked back a sob.

He wiped impatiently at his face again- crying was the _last_ thing he needed to do. He was already enough of a hot mess as it was, and there was no point in adding ‘crying like a little girl’ to the list. _God._

Some idiot he must have looked like before, running out of red base, flailing his arms about, wearing only the bottom half of his armour and screaming at everyone around to _get out of the way_. The quick escape had been necessary at the time, but he’d already cursed the fact that he’d had to leave both his helmet and gun behind.

The military standard armour boots had kept out the murky cave water, but hadn’t helped at all when he’d tripped over in a particularly wet alcove a while back. The thin maroon tank top he wore was muddy and drenched, and the bits of him that were human flesh were covered in goose-bumps from the chill in the stagnant cave air.

He looked fearfully at his arm again, the one Sarge had replaced with a robot arm all those years back. It _looked_ suspiciously normal- all the beaten panels were exactly as they’d been yesterday, all the seemingly shoddy wirework exactly where it was meant to be. Even the scraped and peeling maroon paintjob Donut had helped him do was there as well. It was, undoubtedly, _his_ arm, but to Simmons it had never felt more alien or threatening.

He still wasn’t sure how it had malfunctioned- maybe he’d fucked with something he shouldn’t have last maintenance session- but it _had_ , and far, _far_ worse than usual (he’d gotten used to occasionally shooting himself in the foot ages ago, that was nothing new).

It must have been something he’d missed, a crossed or broken wire in one of the circuits. He hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt because of it.

_“_ Fuck _, Grif,”_ Simmons whispered to himself, clenching his flesh hand into a fist. He couldn’t shake the image of Grif being thrown across the base’s kitchen. Simmons had only stuck around long enough the make sure the fat idiot had still been breathing before he’d run off (and gotten himself lost) but anything could have happened in the intervening time.

_What if he’s dead? What if I **killed** him?_

Simmons banged his fist against the cave wall, dislodging a smattering of dirt. He pushed off and hurried onward.

_No use standing around freaking out, gotta find that exit_.

He just needed to get out of the canyon and away from his teammates, his _friends_ for a few hours, it was easier that way. He’d find somewhere quiet where he could safely look at his arm with the small toolkit he kept in his right boot. Hopefully that would be enough.

It wasn’t a forever thing by any means; he’d _have_ to go back to base eventually. By any luck they’d all be laughing about it by dinner tomorrow, him and his team- Sarge, Donut, Lopez, _Grif,_ maybe even the Blues as well _._ They’d all forget about it eventually and move on. Maybe he’d even be able to wheedle a brand new arm out of it.

Simmons just had to make it to that point without having a mental breakdown, which was probably a harder feat than it sounded. He wasn’t the most relaxed dude in the canyon in the first place.

_“Simmons!”_ echoed a familiar voice behind him in the tunnel. _“Simmons, where are you, dude?”_

Fear seized at his heart and his eyes went wide. He staggered to a halt. _Tucker?_

_“Simmons? Simmons, are you in here? Answer me!”_ came Sarge’s voice as well, reverberating off the wet tunnel.

The need to keep quiet and hidden was pitted against his inherent desire to follow a superior officer’s command. It was probably a shorter struggle than it should have been.

“Yeah!” he called back, immediately cursing himself for it. “Bu-but don’t follow me, I don’t think I’m safe!”

_“Private Simmons, you best turn your robot hiney around and march right back here before I court-marshal you for desertion!”_

Simmons blanched and squeaked in fear. He heard two sets of hurried footsteps splashing towards him, getting closer by the second. He looked to his arm, sticking out straight from his body and sparking slightly, then back down the corridor. He made a snap decision.

“No no _no **no**_ , just stay away, alright? I’ll-I’ll fix this, just leave me _alone_!” he yelled, his heart in his throat as he took off in the opposite direction.

_“Simmons, wait!”_ Tucker and Sarge cried, but he ignored it.

The tunnel soon opened up into a wider cavern so filled with stalactites and stalagmites it looked like a gigantic leering mouth. Water dripping from the roof created an empty and creepy soundscape that immediately put a shiver up Simmons’ spine. Worst of all, the place wasn’t familiar to him at all and the air smelled as stale as ever.

“ _Fuck_ , how big is this fucking place? And how the _fuck_ did we never find it before, we’ve been in this canyon for _five_ goddamn years now!”

He anxiously scanned the room for a way out, and spied a similar tunnel than his on the opposite wall. He ran for it, hoping it would miraculously lead him out, but was forced to stop several feet in. A cave in had blocked the way- a long while ago, by the looks of it, as a lot of the rocks had a layer of moss growing on them.

“Fuck fuck, what the _fuck_ -” he cried.

_“Simmons!”_ Sarge’s voice called, closer than ever.

Simmons whipped around and saw a flickering of torchlight almost at the mouth of the tunnel he’d come through. He squeaked, then covered his mouth to muffle the noise.

_Out of time, out of time! Can’t let them find me, can’t let the touch me, oh god oh god oh **god oh-**_

In a fit of panic, Simmons ran and threw himself behind a large stalagmite, trying to stifle his heaving, freaked out breaths.

_“Simmons? Dude, are you in here?”_ he heard Tucker call. The echoing sounded different in the wider, more open cavern compared to the more confined tunnel.

Simmons crouched lower behind his cover and bit back a sob that was threatening to escape past his fingers. The footsteps of his friends slowed down, and he listened to them intently.

“My scanners are still fucked up but I think they’re saying he’s still in here?” came Tucker’s voice from what sounded like the middle of the cavern. “I’ll go check out that tunnel just in case- Sarge, you spread out and see if he’s hiding behind a rock, or something.”

“Got it, Blue.”

Simmons fearfully pressed himself back against the stalagmite, edging around to avoid Tucker’s plodding footsteps that made a beeline for the blocked off tunnel. After a moment, he peered out cautiously- Sarge, in his armour sans his helmet (which looked to be tucked under his arm) had his back to Simmons and was scanning the other side of the cavern with a flashlight.

“Simmons?” the gruff old man said. Simmons gritted his teeth together to keep his mouth closed.

He instead looked to the tunnel they’d come in, which was clear and probably his only way of escape. Simmons reasoned that if he was quick and quiet, he could sneak out before he was found.

He took a steadying breath, and with a glance at Sarge to make sure the man was still looking the other way, dashed to the cover of the next stalagmite. It was taking everything he had and all his limited training to keep quiet.

“Tunnel’s blocked off, he didn’t get out this way at least,” came Tucker’s echoing voice.

Simmons pressed himself further into the rock.

“Simmons? Come out, Simmons, we haven’t got all day,” said Sarge. “Here I am, taking orders from a _dirty_ _blue_ and you’re just gonna leave me hanging like this? Come on, soldier, I thought I taught you better than that.”

Simmons paused.

_No, focus. Don’t let them find you, you’re not safe._

“We’re here to help you, Simmons. Whatever happened, we’ll find a way to fix it together. But running away won’t help anyone, dude,” chimed in Tucker.

Simmons poked his head around, eyeing up his next stalagmite. The sweeping glow of a flashlight arced his way- he saw a flash of teal armour, and ducked back just in the nick of time. Tucker’s footsteps stomped right past his hiding place.

When he thought the coast was clear again, Simmons dashed to the next rock, hopping lightly over a shallow puddle. Two more to go and he would be at the tunnel entrance, and hopefully home free. Well, probably still hopelessly lost in a wet and surprisingly extensive cave system, but at least he could lose his pursuers easier in the winding tunnels.

He looked around to check his path again and almost choked- Tucker was now standing at the mouth of the tunnel, leaning casually against the wall, obviously having caught on to Simmons’ plan.

Cursing internally, he ducked back and weighed up his options. With Tucker guarding the way out and Sarge still scanning between the rocks, it was only a matter of time until he was found. What then? Would they drag him back to base? Would his arm do that thing again, would someone else get hurt?

“Look guys, thanks for the concern and all, but you don’t need to worry about me,” Simmons said as nonchalantly as he could, hoping that the echoing cave would mask where his voice was coming from.

“Concern is a word for it alright. Simmons, you just _ran off_ -”

“It wasn’t going to be forever, I swear!” insisted Simmons. “I just needed some space away from the canyon to sort this out. I don’t know what’s happening, and I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt while I checked it out!”

He looked again at the offending arm, still stretched straight and barely hidden behind the bulk of the rock. It sparked a little, as though sensing his gaze.

“Is Grif alright? Did I hurt him really bad?” he asked desperately, half-wanting not to hear the answer.

“He’s fine, we think. Donut’s staying with him and Doc was there when we left. He didn’t think there would be permanent damage, but then again, you know how Doc can be,” replied Tucker.

Simmons let out a tension riddled breath he hadn’t known he was holding and slid to the ground, his back becoming slick with the cold gunky moss from the rock. He didn’t care, Grif was still alive. For now.

“That’s good, _fuck_ , I don’t know what I would have done if-” He swallowed heavily and closed his eyes.

“Look, Simmons,” Sarge said from somewhere that sounded quite close, but it was hard to tell with the echo. “Disappointing as it is that Grif survived, it means that everything’s fine and you can stop tryin’ to run away from us. Whatever mechanical oopsies happening with your robot bits, I’m sure we can fix it if you just come back to base with us. Lopez an’ I will have a look and we can have this all sorted out by Donut’s wine and cheese hour.”

Simmons looked down at his arm again, contemplating it. Maybe Sarge had a point- if he was honest with himself, he was cold, wet and exhausted, and he hadn’t been looking forward to trying to fix it by himself, especially with his non-dominant left hand.

The set of footsteps stopped right next to him, and Simmons looked up to see Sarge standing above him, helmetless and smiling down. “What do you say, son?”

He extended his gloved red hand, and Simmons hesitated for a moment before accepting it with his flesh arm.

He let Sarge pull him to his feet and awkwardly returned the grin.

“There ya’ go! Got ‘im, Tucker,” Sarge yelled over his shoulder.

“Oh thank _fuck_ , can we go now?” Tucker replied. “This place is always so wet. How can there be so much water down here when the surface is a fucking desert!?”

“You alright there, Simmons?” asked Sarge, turning back to him. “You look like a dog tried to fight a puddle and lost.”

“I’m fine, sir,” Simmons said with a relieved sigh.

Sarge nodded.

“Now let’s get out of here, this place gives me the heebie jeebies, and not the good kind.”

Sarge went to clap Simmons on the shoulder, a friendly, comforting gesture he’d had done many times before. Simmons widened his eyes.

“Sarge, no _, wait_!”

But it was too late. As soon as Sarge’s hand touched his robot arm, there was a great cracking sound and a wave of energy seemed to pass out from the metal. Just like Grif had, Sarge was thrown back by the sheer force of it, and fell limply to the floor of the cavern. The loose helmet rolled from his grip and came to stop several feet away.

“Fuck fuck _fuck_ , Sarge are you alright? Sarge? Answer me Sarge!”

But there was no reply.

Tucker bounded into view, his sword out and lit.

_“What the fuck happened?”_ yelled Tucker, immediately stowing his weapon and crouching at Sarge’s side. He put a hand to his helmet, scanning Sarge’s limp body, before turning to Simmons. “What the hell did you _do_?”

Simmons was back on the verge of panicking, his breaths coming quick and short.

“I- I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry, _I’m so sorry_ , I didn’t mean to!” he cried. He looked at his metal arm, which was smoking slightly. “ _Fuck_ , what’s wrong with me, why does this keep happening?”

He looked desperately at Tucker to see that the Blue had pulled off his glove to dig his fingers into the pulse point at Sarge’s neck.

Simmons’ blood ran cold.

_No no no, not Sarge, **please** not Sarge._

“You didn’t kill him, but he needs help _now_ ,” Tucker said, serious and in control, far removed from the womanising idiot now. He pressed a finger to the radio link on his helmet. “Church, do you read me? Come in, this is an _emergency_.”

Simmons couldn’t hear if Church replied, once again cursing that he’d left his helmet behind. He stared at his arm as though it was tainted, half-expecting to see blood dripping from the wires and metal panels. One time might have been a fluke, but two times made him a weapon.

It was more important than ever- he had to leave before anyone else got hurt because of him.

“Yeah, found Simmons, but that thing happened again and Sarge is down. I’m gonna need backup, send Caboose and Donut if you can.” Tucker paused. “What’s that dude? Reception’s shitty down here.”

Simmons stumbled backwards around the stalagmite, and caught sight of the way out again. He started for it, almost sprinting.

“Whoa, Simmons, _wait_!” Tucker called after him. Simmons drew up just short of the tunnel, but didn’t turn back.

“Stay with Sarge,” he pushed out between shallow breaths. “I gotta go fix this before anyone else gets hurt, don’t follow me.”

“And what if you can’t fix it? Dude, Sarge was right, it’ll be faster and safer if we do it together!”

Simmons shook his head. “No, no, _fuck_. Just… tell him- tell _them_ , I’m-I’m sorry, okay. I’ll come back when I can.”

Tucker sighed, the sound reverberating until it filled the whole room.

“Okay, I’ll look after them,” Tucker said, and Simmons felt a wave of gratitude. “Just make sure _you_ come back, man, your team needs you! You should’ve seen how worried they were about you when you ran off.”

Simmons nodded, his throat closing up too much for a reply. With one last frightened glance at his sparking arm, he ran off back down the tunnel in search of the way out.

**Author's Note:**

> I did Simmons/red team angst bc, blue team to my core as I am, I’m a lil over just doing blues/tuckington stuff. Just wanted some variety.
> 
> The way I see it, this story has three possible endings
> 
> 1\. Good Ending- Simmons manages to fix his arm enough that he feels safe enough to come back to base. Grif and Sarge make a full recovery. Lopez helps with the rest of the repairs. Maybe Sarge makes him a new arm entirely to ease everyone’s mind. They all laugh about it and the whole thing gets put behind them.
> 
> 2\. (Relatively) Good Bad Ending- Simmons just… never comes back. He can’t find a way to fix it, so he just runs away entirely and starts a new life as a hermit. He sends a short message back to Blood Gulch just to say he’s alive, but otherwise there’s nothing. The reds and blues try and fail on an adventure to bring him back. Sarge doesn’t have the heart to tell the UNSC/PFL that Simmons deserted, and they all pretend he’s still there to keep Simmons from being dragged back for a court martial (after all, he only ran away in the first place to keep them all safe.) Everyone is sad.
> 
> 3\. Bad Ending- Simmons hurts himself with the arm trying to fix it, knocks himself out and without proper medical attention, dies. A search party finds his body, and someone else still gets hurt when they touch the arm. Tucker has to cut it off entirely so they can drag Simmons back for a proper funeral. Everyone is sad, Grif especially, and everything hurts.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Can’t wait for the next war!


End file.
